I'm From Kansas, and You Don't Know Where That Is

Graphic by Téa Sklar

Point to Kansas on a map right now. You can’t do it, can you? Nobody can. I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed. The American education system has failed us all. The Midwest is indeed just that; mid as fuck. As someone who grew up and spent fifteen of her most primitive years there, I gotta tell you, it’s pretty bad. But it’s also cool sometimes! I’ve always been more interested in the people who make the place, not the place itself. So today, young Jerklings, I’m going to give you my yay and nays on my hometown. Take some notes in case you ever get stuck there!

Wichita, as a city, is pretty dope. You feel like there’s nothing to do when you live there your whole life, but there’s actually a lot of fun stuff to do. Cool museums, lots of shopping plazas, good eats all around, great parks if you’re a child or have them (or a good spot for homeless people to do heroin). There are little pockets that I think of time to time and realize how much I miss it. My favorite Mexican restaurant is Renee’s, and it has the most life-changing breakfast burrito of my entire life. I still dream of her. And for those of you who are going to tell me to just make it myself and deal with it, I tried, and I failed. So shut up. Another great part? One of my childhood friends had a really good Japanese restaurant that I’ve been craving heavily recently. Shout out, Xin, I miss your family's hibachi in a big way.

The best part of Wichita is the people, but it’s also the worst part. Lots of great, very loving and accepting people. But there are also a lot of people who use their religion as a bulletproof vest for hatred. The best 18.4% of our population is Hispanic, and for some reason, right now, they’re being threatened. And I’ve been gone for a while now, but they still prove to be the backbone of that city. At times when I was made to feel like the weird kid, I always knew that all of my Hispanic friends had my back, and would ALWAYS match my freak, whatever the weather. A great majority of the white kids I grew up around always made me feel like a piece of shit, and like I was less than them for growing up with a single parent. Look at us now, bitches. Who’s going to Syracuse and thriving? This brookie!

There were so many little surprises that came with living in Wichita. We didn’t get super big events at all times, but early on in people's careers, they would pull up frequently. My first concert was Taylor Swift’s RED tour at Intrust Bank Arena. I cried, and I saw Ed Sheeran before he blew up to massive fame, so I got a double win. When I saw the Rockettes over winter break at Radio City with my mom for their 100th anniversary, I thought of the first time I saw them at Intrust Bank and how BADLY I wanted to be one. Then I stopped growing at exactly 5’5” and knew it was over.

I stay loving Kansas. I’ve been gone for a long time now, and I haven’t been back to visit for a long minute, but every time I’m back, I feel wrapped back up in its arms. I wonder why a lot. I don’t really interact with my family there, so what makes it feel like home when my mom isn’t even there anymore? It really is my friends. It’s the culture there, good and bad, it’s everything that made me into who I am today. Growing up around that level of bigotry and hanging out with the antithesis of it made me understand the world from a different angle. There is so much love there, it’s just under a blanket of hate. 

There is a big religious aspect to my home that I have some thoughts on. None are necessarily bad or full of resentment, just thoughts on how it made me. Time to enter complaining mode for a few minutes, let me cook. I wasn’t necessarily raised super religious; it’s more of a thing that happened in my adolescence. I was dealing with the loss of a friend at a weird point in my life. I felt alone, and when I went to the funeral service, it was held at her church. It seemed like the only path for me to take. My friends were going and seemed so happy, and I wanted community. So I sought it instead of complaining like everyone does now. And for a while, shit was really good, but I wasn’t fully in it like everyone else. I went to see my friends two times a week who went to different school districts. My head wasn’t fully believing it, but it was fake it or be alone. So my options were limited. Guess which one I picked?

Without getting into the knitty-gritty, I obviously left the church in due time. It’s not that I don’t believe anymore, I just was starting to get icked out by how many people I looked up to and respected were using Jesus as a reason to hate groups of people, including the group that I was starting to identify with in the queer community. It got messy, but I’m alive and harbor no ill will towards the church at all.

So to wrap up my tumbleweed home in a nice little ribbon, I love it and hate it at the same time. I love how my high school had a Fuck ICE protest a few weeks ago. I love how when people need you, they show up with a casserole and that signature Midwest hospitality. I love how you find your pockets of blue in such a red state, meeting and getting to love some of the greatest people I’ve ever met. The village I have there will always have my back when I need it. Even with the distance, timezone change, and everything in between us, I’ve got them as they’ve got me.

Wichita, I love you and miss you. Just please be a little less republican so I can come home without fear, okay? <3